ar frosty day, with a scarlet sun glowing through
dun-coloured clouds, and a pale blue sky beyond the haze above their
heads; the country landscape had suggestions of Christmas cheeriness,
impossible enough to Londoners who cannot hope to share in
country-house revels _a la_ Mr. Caldecott, but vaguely exhilarating
notwithstanding.

Mark knew that his Christmas would be passed in town with his family,
who would keep it, as they observed Sunday, and refrain from any
attempt at seasonable jollity; yet he began to feel elated by its
approach, or the weather, or some instinct of youth and health which
set his blood tingling and drove away his dissatisfaction with every
step he took.

Uncle Solomon had come out in broadcloth, and a large hat with such an
ecclesiastical brim that it influenced his conversation, causing it to
be more appropriate than Sunday talk will sometimes be, even amongst
the best people. He discoursed of Ritualism, and deplored the hold it
had acquired on the vicar, and the secret manoeuvres of the detested
Humpage in the vestry.

'I was brought up a Baptist,' he said, 'and I'd go back to 'em now, if
I didn't know how they'd all crow about it; and they're a poor lot at
Little Bethel, too, not a penny-piece among 'em.'

'When we get into the church,' he continued, 'you give a look left of
the chancel, close by the door where the shelf is with the
poor-loaves. You'll see a painted winder there which that 'Umpage got
put up to his aunt--that's his ostentation, that is. I don't believe
he ever _had_ an aunt; but I don't wish to judge him. Only you look at
that window, and tell me how it strikes you afterwards. He's got the
artist to do him as the Good Samaritan there! I call it
scandalous!--there's no mistake about it; the 'air's not the same
colour, and the Eastern robes hide it a bit; but he's there for all
that. I don't relish seeing 'Umpage figurin' away in painted glass and
a great gaudy turban every time I look up, he's quite aggravating
enough in his pew. If I chose to go to the expense, _I_ could put up a
winder too, and 'ave myself done.'

'As a saint?' suggested Mark.

'Never you mind. If I liked to be a saint on glass I could, I
suppose--I'm a churchwarden, and there's no reason why 'Umpage should
'ave all the painted winders to himself; but I shouldn't care to make
myself so conspicuous. 'Umpage, now, he likes that sort of thing.'

This brought them to the church, a perpendicular building